


The Serpent And The Maiden

by SkySamuelle



Category: Christian Bible (Old Testament)
Genre: Consent Play, F/M, Forbidden Fruit, Forced Orgasm, Mind Control, Mind Games, Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 04:21:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4290624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkySamuelle/pseuds/SkySamuelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Porn With plot. Written for last Five Acts Meme. Theme: Bible ; Lucifer/Female, Forbidden Fruit</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Serpent And The Maiden

The first time, she is bathing in the river. Alone, as she always seems to long to be lately, away from her parents and their overbearing nostalgia for something she has never known.  
  
She secretly thinks that even if she was not born after Adam and Eve ‘s sentence of exile, she would feel the same. Eden, this lost paradise that has her parents still miserable and bitter and ready to bite each other head ‘s off, is not for her. It’s something she feels deep in her bones, the revulsion toward any constraint.   
  
And that is not something a woman is entitled to feel, they tell her- a woman marries and then spends her life making her husband will’s her will.  
In the river, as the cool water soothes from the day’s heat her naked body, this is nothing. In the river her body matters, it enjoys the sensation of the warm air over damp skin and the simple freedom of being unclothed.  
  
A willow hovers low above the water, offering its shade as tempting protection from the sun, but there a branch that stretches lower than any other, and a snake wrapped around it, green and gold scales glinting under the sunlight that filters through the foliage.   
Given her family’s history, that alone should be enough to prompt her to collect her clothing and go. Fast.   
  
But the thrill of the imagined danger makes her reckless and that beautiful, unusual coloring draws her admiration , so even as she recognizes it’s stupid, she stays, swimming around the tree but keeping herself away enough.  
  
She laughs at herself for glancing often back at the serpent, for imagining it is watching back.   
  
Until the green and gold coils loosen around the wood and the animal head rises lazily, oddly intelligent eyes trained – maybe, maybe not- on her. Gracefully, the serpent ‘s body dangles down from the branch, swaying slightly from side to side and then it drops into the water.  
  
She freezes, strains to see the direction he – he?- is swimming to, but … no ripples in the water and a creeping sense of unease around her heart.  
  
Human hands slide around her hips, press her back against an hard chest.  
  
His voice is just like imagined from her mother’s bitter tales –smooth as silk, cold as the night, bold, both hard and soft .   
“Don’t be afraid.”  
  
But her heartbeat is already loud an hammer, and she is suddenly aware that she should not, *not* be here.   
“Let me go”  
  
“No”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“It’s not what I want, and soon, it won’t be what you want neither.”  
  
In her ears, it sounds so matter-of-fact. She can feel his smile against her nape as his fingers brush aside her dark hair, tries to imagine his face even while the dread just intensifies.   
  
Her mother used to say – just to talk with Lucifer invites corruption, because his skill to tempt and persuade leaves no way out, no place to hide.  
  
So she fears questioning him, fears the doubts his voice might plant in her mind… but most, his arm around her waist, keeping her in place. And the hand that cups her down below, already too possessive, too daring, like she was already his.   
  
“You are so beautiful, and I want to possess you.”   
  
“Like you wanted to possess my mother?”  
  
“More. You are what she should have been. What I wanted for her to be, but she never could be ”  
  
“You don’t know me!” she insists, and she should have the grace to be humiliated at the fingers that stroke her sex, pressing and releasing, teasing and soothing in turns. The blood that rushes to her cheeks tough, it has nothing to do with embarrassment. Inside, there’s frustration. Helplessness. Some kind of unknown want.   
  
“Oh, I do, you know I do …” and she feels his mind inside her mind for a moment and the panic of not knowing how this is possible makes her to struggle to get free. At least until his will, stronger than hers, pins her thoughts and limbs down again, fills her with a sudden clarity - she is a gift he always meant to collect. A gift seen long before she was even conceived. Innocence that longs to be despoiled instead of unwilling, obedient ignorance. A forbidden fruit for the Great Temptator himself.  
  
Her thighs clench reflexively as his fingers sneak inside, trapping his hand between them instead of stopping the coming invasion.   
  
“It’s wrong-” she chokes out lout and she doesn’t know what she is referring to the most: the hard, swollen member pushing to nestle between her buttocks, the thumb that remains ruthlessly on her button, the invasion of her mind, her fading control on her body. The fingers that tear through her maidenhead without gentleness , like this is something she owes to him, and that keep to stroke in and out of her with a relentless rhythm she should not enjoy.  
  
Yet she does, and the want that ignites in her belly forces her to spread open against his forceful invasion and roll her head back against his shoulder, whimpering . Does it matter that she never even saw his face?  
He is in her, not only inside her cunt or inside her head but in something deeper , written in her bones maybe … or in her soul.   
His eyes are grey when she opens hers and meets them. Familiar and unfamiliar. He is like a dream she knows but has forgotten and it’s still wrong, so wrong but she needs it anyway.  
  
“More” she demands, driving right in.  
  
Maybe she likes how wrong tastes.  
  



End file.
